Another month passed, and Zhang Jie, having taken on several missions, was finally getting back on track, no longer needing to worry about rent.
Although he couldn't pay off all the back rent yet, his life was returning to normal.
One evening, Zhang Jie decided to go for a walk to clear his head and unknowingly wandered far from home.
The 'Red Bear' bar at Brooklyn Docks was a tough nut to crack.
The dilapidated neon sign was missing one of the bear's eyes, and its flickering light bled into the damp air.
Two burly men with Slavic faces stood at the entrance, conversing in low Russian, their waists bulging, clearly concealing weapons.
Zhang Jie stood across the street, lit a cigarette, and leisurely observed the people coming and going.
Three drunken sailors stumbled out, arms around each other's shoulders, vodka stains on their collars.
A blonde woman in a tight dress and mask walked in on high heels, the slit in her skirt vaguely revealing the outline of a thigh holster.
Two Asian youths in baseball caps squatted in the alley, their eyes darting around, as if waiting for a deal.
A typical gang hideout, a mixed bag of people, but with a clear order.
He stubbed out his cigarette and pushed open the bar door.
The stench of cheap alcohol mixed with sweat assaulted him, making him frown.
Under the dim lights, a dozen tables were packed with people.
Thugs from the Tarasov gang occupied the center, stabbing pickled cucumbers with daggers as they drank.
In a corner, several Latinos were playing cards, loaded pistols resting beside their chips.
At the bar, several heavily made-up women sat, one of them sensually tracing the rim of her glass with a finger painted with crimson nail polish, her eyes as sharp as knives.
At the innermost oak table near the bar, a bald, muscular man was counting a stack of U.S. dollars.
Ivan Petrov.
Zhang Jie's pupils contracted slightly.
A double-headed eagle was tattooed on his heavily muscled neck, and he limped slightly on his right leg—a memento left to him by the original owner before his death.
He walked slowly to the bar, ordered the cheapest beer, but his peripheral vision remained fixed on his target; the two were not far apart.
The bartender was a one-eyed old man, and his pinky finger trembled imperceptibly as he handed over the beer; there was definitely an alarm device hidden under the bar.
"F*ck..."
Ivan suddenly looked up.
Their gazes met in mid-air, and the Russian's expression instantly twisted.
"Ты живой?! (You're alive?!)"
The moment the roar erupted, the entire bar suddenly fell silent.
The arm wrestlers released their grip, the gamblers pressed down on their chips, and the women uniformly retreated to the wall, experience telling them that blood was about to be shed.
As Ivan kicked over his chair and charged, Zhang Jie had already calculated his escape route.
The front door was blocked by two bodyguards.
The kitchen passage had a 'No Entry' sign, but the fire door was unlocked.
The bathroom window faced the alley, wide enough for him to squeeze through sideways.
"I didn't kill you in the warehouse last time," Ivan's fist came whistling through the air, "This time I'm going to rip out your guts!"
The two were too close, almost face to face; he wanted to draw his gun, but there wasn't enough time!
Moreover, the situation here was unclear, and opening fire now would be disadvantageous to him, so he decided to engage in hand-to-hand combat first!
Zhang Jie dodged sideways, and the punch slammed into the liquor cabinet; amidst the sound of shattering glass, the pungent aroma of vodka filled the air.
He seized the opportunity to grab a metal coaster from the bar and smashed it hard into Ivan's temple.
"Bang!"
The Russian staggered back, a gash opening on his forehead, blood obscuring his left eye.
The onlookers erupted in cheers, and a Latino man with a gold chain even let out a whistle.
"Ублюдок! (Bastard!)" Ivan roared, turning around and grabbing Zhang Jie by the neck, swinging him against the wall.
Zhang Jie curled his body at the last moment, taking most of the impact with his shoulder, but the air in his lungs was still completely squeezed out. He gritted his teeth, lifted his leg, and slammed his knee hard into Ivan's groin.
"Aow!!!"
The Russian grunted, and the strength in his hands loosened for a moment.
Only those who had been kicked in the crotch understood that pain.
However, many male onlookers instinctively covered their precious crotches, feeling a sense of empathy.
Zhang Jie seized the chance to break free, rolling away to create distance.
"Дерьмо! (Shit!)" Ivan wiped his face, then suddenly pulled a serrated military knife from his lower back, "I'm going to cut you into..."
Before he could finish, Zhang Jie had already swung an oak wine barrel at him.
Amidst the chaos of splashing liquor and flying wood chips, he darted towards the kitchen.
Behind him, Ivan's enraged roars and the sound of overturned tables and chairs could be heard. Someone screamed, "Don't shoot!"
Another drunk shouted, "Bet that Asian kid won't last three minutes!"
The moment the fire door was kicked open, Zhang Jie heard the 'click' of a pistol being cocked amidst the chaotic sounds.
Someone had indeed drawn a gun.
The back alley was narrower than expected, piled high with moldy cardboard boxes and rotting food scraps.
He ran while drawing his Glock 34; remaining magazine capacity: 18 rounds.
As he rounded the third dumpster, he heard heavy footsteps and Russian curses behind him.
"You think you can run away?!" Ivan's voice echoed in the alley, "Where's that list Lisa gave you?!"
Zhang Jie suddenly skidded to a halt, turned, and raised his gun.
Five meters away, Ivan also aimed his gun, an old Makarov PM, its magazine slightly exposed, with at most 8 rounds left.
They faced each other across the damp mist, their gun barrels glinting coldly under the dim streetlights.
"What list?" Zhang Jie's index finger rested lightly on the trigger, "Lisa never gave me anything."
"Liar!" Ivan's face was contorted with rage, "That night, September 14th, she went to the warehouse with the list of traitors from the Tarasov family! And then you showed up!"
September 14th.
The day the original owner died.
Zhang Jie's temples throbbed.
Fragmented memories flashed: a dim warehouse, damp bullets, Lisa's terrified face... "I don't know what you're talking about." He slowly shifted his feet, looking for cover, "That day, I only wanted to kill Liu Ziqiang, that traitor."
"Ебать! (F*ck!)" Ivan suddenly pulled the trigger.
Bang!
His crisis reaction paid off; Zhang Jie instinctively tilted his head.
The bullet grazed Zhang Jie's ear, carving a light-transmitting hole in the metal dumpster behind him.
He retaliated almost simultaneously, two 9mm bullets whistling out.
Bang! Bang!
Thud! Thud!
One shot hit the brick wall, the other pierced Ivan's right shoulder.
The Russian grunted, staggering against the fire escape, but his gun remained aimed squarely at Zhang Jie.
Then there was another burst of gunfire.
Both of their spare magazines only had one left; whoever ran out of bullets first would die.
"Last time I ask," Ivan gritted his teeth as he reloaded his magazine, "Where's the list?"
Zhang Jie suddenly smiled.
"I'll tell you a secret." He rolled sideways like lightning behind the dumpster, "I can't even remember what Lisa looks like anymore."
"Тварь! (Bastard!)"
An enraged Ivan fired continuously, bullets sparking against the metal container.
Zhang Jie crouched, counting the gunshots: five, six... The Makarov's magazine should be empty.
When silence fell after the seventh shot, he suddenly leaned out and returned fire.
Bang! Bang!
The first bullet shot off Ivan's earlobe, the second grazed his throat.
The Russian, clutching his bleeding ear, lunged around the corner, while Zhang Jie had already sprinted to the end of the alley; his magazine also had only three rounds left.
As he climbed over the barbed wire, he heard Ivan's hysterical roar: "I'll tear your throat out before the Tarasov family finds you!"
Only when the night wind dispersed the smell of blood did Zhang Jie realize his hands were trembling.
Lisa, the list, the warehouse... What kind of conspiracy was the original owner involved in before he died?
What Tarasov family?
What was all this about?
Zhang Jie was utterly bewildered.